The Great Alphabet Meme  Hotch,Reid Version
by Kuria Dalmatia
Summary: A series of stories inspired by letters of the alphabet prompts on my LJ. This is the Hotch/Reid set.
1. Introduction, Warnings, Disclaimers

**Title:** The Great Alphabet Drabbling Meme

**Author: **Kuria Dalmatia

**Rating/Warnings:** R (profanity, sexual situations, racism)

**Characters/Pairing:** Hotch/Reid set only.

ARCHIVING: my LJ & FFNet account... anyone else? Please ask first.

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

W. Wager - Hotch/Reid. "W is for Wager" prompt by Bowie28

X. Xylophone - Hotch/Reid. "X is for Xylophone" prompt by daylyn ayashi_mikage

S. Snow -Hotch/Reid "S is for Snow" prompt by daylyn

V. Variety Show - Hotch/Reid. "V is for Variety Show" prompt by Vannessasquest

Q. Queen bee - Hotch/Reid "Q is for Queen Bee" prompt by Vannessasquest

A. Agitation - Hotch/Reid "A is for Agitation" prompt by CMAli

M. Magic - Hotch/Reid "M is for Magic" prompt by agirlnamedluna

E. Evaluation - Hotch/Reid "E is for Evaluation" prompt by anonymous

F. Frown - Hotch/Reid "F is for Frown" prompt by anonymous (sequel to "E is for Evaluation"

C. Casual Friday - Hotch/Reid "C is for Casual Friday" prompt by bc_girl

I. Incremental - Hotch/Reid prompt by anonymous

F. Frown - Hotch/Reid prompt by westmoon

L. Liptstick - Hotch/Reid prompt by evil_killer_cat

U. Unwavering - Hotch/Reid or Reid/Elle prompt by anonymous 


	2. W is for Wager

**Title:** W is for Wager

**Prompt by** bowie28

**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia

**Rating/Warnings:** R (profanity, sexual situations)

**Characters/Pairing:** Hotch/Reid

ARCHIVING: my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.

COMMENTS: Part of the "The Great A-Z Multifandom Drabbling Meme". Unbetaed.

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

/***/

Reid was from Vegas. He was a genius to boot. Oh, and he was a magician therefore sleight-of-hand was yet another thing in the man's repertoire. So, conventional wisdom dictated that one should never a) play cards with Reid, b) wager against him, and c) never do A and B simultaneously.

Hotch didn't necessarily subscribe to conventional wisdom. If he did, he would still be a federal prosecutor or perhaps even held a political office or two. This disregard for conventional wisdom was why he not only played cards with Reid but also wagered. Hence tonight's round of was Strip Poker, a variation that Reid—No, he was _Spencer_ in situations like this—had never played. And while Spencer was a pretty ruthless player, he allowed Aaron to count his socks and shoe separately, as well as his flag lapel pin, tie tack, guns, holsters and pocket kerchief.

It hadn't helped because, even though they alternated deals, Aaron was down to his boxers and undershirt while Spencer had only lost his dress shirt. As Spencer shuffled the deck, his brow wrinkled as he bit his lips together. "I don't see the purpose of this," he gestured and began to deal the cards. "I mean, if I wanted you naked, there are a lot more pleasurable and interesting ways of accomplishing that."

Aaron laughed a little. "You don't think literally beating the pants off me isn't fun?"

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "As opposed to beating you off? No."

He gaped like he always did when Spencer said something sexually charged and snarky. Even after three years, he still wasn't used to this side of Spencer.

His lover leaned back in his chair and tilted his head sideways. "If this is about domination, again, there are more interesting ways to achieve that goal. For instance, having you naked on your back in the bed. You would have to keep you hands to your sides, your eyes closed, and you can only say two words: 'Yes' and your safe word."

Aaron's hands stilled. He narrowed his eyes and said, "Just those two words."

"Yep." Spencer's smile turned wicked. "You'd last about, oh, five minutes."

"Five minutes."

"What? You want to wager you can last longer?"

"I'll see you in the bedroom."

/***/


	3. X is for Xylophone

**Title:** X is for Xylophone

**Prompt by** daylyn

**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia

Rating/**Warnings:** R (profanity), Spoilers for all of Season 5

**Characters/Pairing:** Hotch/Reid, established relationship.

ARCHIVING: my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.

COMMENTS: Part of the "The Great A-Z Multifandom Drabbling Meme". Unbetaed.

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

/***/

The sheer amount of _stuff_ was almost overwhelming. Granted, Hotch had labeled all the boxes and gridded out where they were in the storage unit, but still...

Spencer wondered how odd it would be to hold a yard sale right after they moved in to their new house. It was a guaranteed way to meet the rest of neighbors in person (hell _yes_ they did background checks on the entire block once they decided on the home to buy). However, having such personal items for just anyone to sort through was a bit unnerving.

Plus, being out to the entire subdivision wasn't something Spencer was looking forward to. Jack already had some problems in school because he had two daddies and…yeah.

Spencer signed as he entered the storage unit. They were almost done; they only had one more section to clear out. That was when Spencer spotted the large black case in the back. The proportions were wrong for a suitcase and the scuffs indicated that it was fairly old. Even more curious: there was no label.

"Aaron?" Spencer pointed to the case.

His lover paused and then set the box he was carrying back down. The flicker of emotions on his face was difficult to interpret, but then Aaron let out long sigh and scratched the back of his head. "Xylophone."

Spencer blinked. "Xylophone? As in…"

"A percussion instrument that I played for three months my freshman year of high school."

He wanted to smile because it was always thrilling to discover a new facet to Aaron and pictures of Aaron in a band uniform, complete with silly hat had to exist. Yet, there was a certain darkness in the way Aaron said the words and the set of his shoulders. _Three months. Freshman in high school_. Clearly, Aaron didn't want to talk about it.

So they didn't. Spencer knew when to push and loading the items from the storage unit to the moving truck and finally to their new home wasn't the time.

Spencer wondered if Aaron would ever tell him.

/***/


	4. S is for Snow

**Title: **S is for Snow

**Prompt by** daylyn

**Author: **Kuria Dalmatia

**Rating/Warnings: **R (profanity)

**Characters/Pairing:** Hotch/Reid, established relationship.

ARCHIVING: my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.

COMMENTS: Part of the "The Great A-Z Multifandom Drabbling Meme". Unbetaed.

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

/***/

The last thing Aaron Hotchner was expecting was a lengthy discourse on the origins of the phrase "pure as the driven snow" from Spencer Reid. Reid started with Shakespeare citations—_Macbeth_ and _The Winter's Tale_—before describing a medieval leather tanning process in which dog poop, termed 'pure', was used. Then Reid went into terrifying detail about how apparently in the Middle Ages, the best kind of dog crap to use was white and that the enzymes contained in said white dog shit aided in the purification process (hence the term 'pure').

But Reid didn't use the words "poop", "shit" or "crap". He opted for the more polite "feces", "excrement" and "dung".

All this while Hotch drove the SUV along I-80 on their way to Park City, Utah. He wanted to believe that the snow which was falling at an increasingly alarming rate had something to do with Reid's lecture. However, he knew that if it were the situation, Reid would be focused on how snow was formed (which Hotch learned about two years ago during a case in Kalamazoo, Michigan) or the different types of snow (which would have been more relevant, given that the four victims in their latest case were avid skiers and snowboarders).

It wasn't until Reid launched into how shoemakers acquired cystic hydatid disease (which was, incidentally, caused by _Echinococcus granulosus_) that Hotch snapped, "Reid!" Because, really, he didn't want to know the details about shoemakers, dog shit and the symptoms of a disease he never heard of.

Reid snapped his mouth shut, crossed his arms over his chest, and scowled. His long hair fell over part of his face and he blew out a hard breath to try to get it to move. When he wasn't successful, he reached up, tucked the lock behind his ear, and went back to glaring out the window.

That reaction told Hotch all he needed to know. He let out a small sigh and asked, "Whose lunch money do you want me to take?"

It was a little joke of theirs started by Reid when they first got together, how Reid's high school experience would have been much different if Hotch had been there and his friend. Hotch never thought himself much as a bully-for-hire, but realized he would have done just that for Reid.

Today? It was apparently the wrong thing to say. "I can handle myself just fine, thank you," Reid retorted coldly.

If the roads weren't as treacherous, Hotch would have reached for his lover's hand. Instead, he softened his voice. "Talk to me."

Reid's scowl deepened and he didn't answer for a few miles. When he finally did, he muttered, "I'm tired of close-minded people."

"Who said what, when?"

"Hotch…" Reid warned.

"It's bothering you."

"And I'll get over it," he shot back before tacking on. "It's _not_ going to distract me from the case, Hotch."

"I never said it would," Hotch said quietly, genuinely hurt that after all this time together, Reid would automatically assume that _he_ would think that someone's crass words would distract Reid. He paused as he mentally reviewed what Reid had focused on.

_Pure as the driven snow_.

Strange for that to trigger such hostility because, of the two of them, Reid was more experienced. Then, Reid asked harshly, "What was I supposed to say, Aaron? Brag that I popped your other cherry?"

Hotch knew he paled a little at the comment. He was proud to have Reid as a lover, but by nature, he was a private man. Hell, it took them four months to officially 'out' themselves to the team although both men knew that it was pretty much an open secret after their third date.

A third date which culminated with a round of mind-blowing sex.

"You know you can talk to me," Hotch said quietly as he eased the SUV into the high-speed lane.

"I _was_ talking to you," Reid told him, but there was no harshness in his voice. There was, perhaps, a bit of disappointment.

"I'm sorry I interrupted."

That made Reid grin a little. "Apology accepted."

"Good."

"Are you sure you don't want to know more about _Echinococcus_?"

"Maybe later."

"How about my theory about the UnSub's use of the ski pole when he stages the bodies?"

Hotch smiled softly. "Sounds good."

/***/


	5. V is for Variety Show

**Title:** V is for Variety Show

**Prompt by **vanessasquest

**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia

**Rating/Warnings:** R (profanity, racism). I can't write anything cheerful, it seems.

**Characters/Pairing:** Hotch/Reid

ARCHIVING: my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.

COMMENTS: Part of the a href="."The Great A-Z Multifandom Drabbling Meme/a. Unbetaed.

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

/***/

One of the many things that surprised Spencer was the lack of candid photos from Aaron's childhood. The lone album Spencer located while organizing the bookshelf only had studio or school portraits of Aaron from birth until high school. It was disheartening, especially when Spencer could easily decipher the expressions on Aaron's young face.

From age six to thirteen, Aaron didn't smile and on a few of the photos, the bruises hadn't quite faded.

Damn.

It was something Aaron rarely mentioned, not that Spencer blamed him. After all, Spencer was never too keen on explaining the nuances of his mother's 'bad', 'really bad', and 'extremely bad' days and just how he was able to find his mother's illness from almost everyone for eight years.

Spencer was about to put the album back on the shelf when a Polaroid photo dropped from the book. Curious, because he hadn't seen it when he paged through the album, Spencer picked it up and examined it.

Aaron looked to be about twelve and dressed in tuxedo, complete with top hat and cane.

"Puttin' on the Ritz," came the soft voice from behind.

Spencer jumped, nearly dropping the photo, as he turned to face his lover. "I was just…"

But Aaron had the photo in his hand, a half-smile on his face. "It was for the school's variety show. We all had to perform a two-minute act. We could do it in groups, but…" He scowled a little, and Spencer knew that for whatever reason, twelve-year-old Aaron Hotchner was forced to do it alone. "I had just seen _Young Frankenstein_. I didn't understand half the humor in it, but there's this once scene where the Monster sings 'Puttin' on the Ritz'."

Spencer's eyes widened. "You…did the Mel Brooks' version?"

"I got a standing ovation," Aaron continued, as if he didn't hear the question. There was no pride in his voice, no warmth at all. "I won first place for my grade." The dullness to his tone was chilling.

Spencer knew better than to offer congratulations. Instead, he took the photo from Aaron's hand and tucked it back into the album. He wanted to say, _You don't have to explain_, because that's what they did for one another.

Then, Aaron choked out, "I learned that night that Mel Brooks is Jewish and that my father hated Jews."

And all Spencer could do was embrace his lover, because there was nothing really to say.

/***/

Q is for Queen Bee


	6. Q is for Queen Bee

**Title: **Q is for Queen Bee

**Prompt by **vanessasquest

**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia

**Rating/Warnings:** R (profanity)

**Characters/Pairing:** Hotch/Reid

ARCHIVING: my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.

COMMENTS: Part of the a href="."The Great A-Z Multifandom Drabbling Meme/a. Unbetaed. Thanks to lj user=vanessasquest for the additional prompt on this! Yes, yes, yes. I know. Reid's eidetic memory is visual not aural but for the purposes of this story, he's got a bit of the aural going on.

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

/***/

Spencer could hear someone talking to him, but couldn't quite make out the voice or the words. It was all muted and buzzed. He was tired, so he went back to sleep.

When he woke up a second time, a quick breath resulted in dull pain in his chest, an ache in his belly, and an itch on the top of his hand. It took him a few moments to remember what had happened.

_Great. Hospital. Again_. Then, _Anthrax. _

Fuck.

_Anthrax._

The last thing he remembered was speaking gibberish to Kimura. If Spencer lost the capacity for language…He licked his lips and quoted the last thing he recalled hearing:

"The queen bee lays about 1200 eggs per day, about 200,000 per season. This is necessary since worker bees only live 6 weeks in the summertime; and a colony needs to have 40 to 50 thousand bees at its peak. She is cared for by the worker bees."

His voice was raw. He could barely swallow.

He didn't care.

Spencer could feel the tears of relief spilling from his own eyes.

He still had language.

Warm fingers caressed the side of his face and wiped away the moisture. "You're awake," Aaron said softly. There was another sound, a combination of a cough and a sob, and it was followed by. "Thank God."

Spencer opened his eyes and blinked, but everything was fuzzy. "Aaron?"

"I'm here. I'm right here. You're gonna be fine. Kimura says you're gonna be okay."

When Aaron's features finally came into focus, Spencer was momentarily stunned by the expression on his lover's face: unadulterated relief mixed with guilt. It was rare to see Aaron not in control of his emotions. But Spencer also noticed that Aaron's eyes were bloodshot and the five o'clock shadow was more like a midnight shadow.

It took a few tries before he said, "How long have you been here?"

"I wanted to be here when you woke up," Aaron replied as he smoothed Spencer's hair away from his face.

It wasn't an actual answer, which translated to more than one or two hours. "Why is the last thing I remember hearing is the reproductive cycle of _Apis millifera_?"

Aaron swore and then shook his head. He laughed a little. "It was the only magazine I could find that wasn't focused on celebrity hairstyles, foolproof diets, and how to satisfy my man in bed."

"You've been reading to me?"

"I couldn't get speakers for the MP3 player."

Spencer reached up and grasped Aaron's hand. "I love you."

Aaron squeezed back, _hard_. "I love you, too."

/***/


	7. M is for Magic

**Title:** M is for Magic

**Prompt by** agirlnamedluna

**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia

**Rating/Warnings:** R (profanity, adult content, discussion of gruesome acts to pets and children). **This is NOT for the faint of heart.**

**Characters/Pairing:** Hotch/Reid

ARCHIVING: my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.

COMMENTS: Part of the The Great A-Z Multifandom Drabbling Meme. Unbetaed.

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

/***/

Hotch's introduction to Spencer Reid's brand of magic was courtesy of an Alka-Seltzer film canister rocket was when bounced off his FBI-issued name badge. His first reaction was to glare the young agent, of course, because that was what he was supposed to do as the second-in-command of the BAU. He picked up the canister and strode over to Reid's desk, watching as the rest of the BAU (whom he suspected had cheered their newest profiler on) hastily went back to work.

Reid apologized profusely, hands wind-milling as he stuttered through an explanation. As Hotch wordlessly placed the canister on Reid's desk, he caught sight of the photos strewn across the surface.

The Malvern, Arkansas case. Three ten-year-old boys tortured and murdered. What made it particularly horrifying was that the UnSub targeted the children's pets as well. The photos were gruesome, making Hotch queasy every time he saw them.

It wasn't surprising that Reid needed a break. Hotch was about to say something, but the other man had seen him look at the photos. Reid immediately stopped apologizing and then shook himself a little. He cleared his throat and opened a file, flipping to a specific page. "I…ah…I asked the local veterinarian to do a necropsy on one of the dogs. He found this." Reid pointed to a specific paragraph and then handed the folder over for Hotch to read. "I think that's why there are no signs of sexual abuse with the boys. And…I think…I think that the UnSub may make the victims watch."

Three words on the page stood out. Hotch's stomach rolled hard. He swallowed rapidly as he closed the folder and handed it back to Reid. It had been a long time since he wanted to vomit upon reading a report. Hotch wanted to say, I_If you need a break, then take it. Just don't set off rockets in the bullpen_, /Ibut he couldn't. Hell, he knew he would be at the firing range shooting targets until his arms ached.

He looked down at Reid, expecting to see outrage or horror, but he just saw unadulterated sadness in the man's eyes. The rest of Reid's face was stunningly neutral. Reid then nodded solemnly and reached for the file. Quietly, the younger agent asked, "Is there, ah, a reason we're not in Malvern?"

It was a bold question.

"The flight plan hasn't been cleared yet," Hotch answered, surprised that his own voice was so low, so haunted. He handed the folder back to Reid. "Since you have the most familiarity with the case, you should take the lead when presenting to the team."

Reid's mouth dropped open.

Hotch then tapped the end of the film canister. "And maybe save the 'magic' for outside."

/***/


	8. A is for Agitation

**Title:** A is for Agitation

**Prompt by** CMAli

**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia

**Rating/Warnings:** R (sexual situations, profanity). The angst train has made a stop at WTF Station.

**Characters/Pairing:** Hotch/Reid

ARCHIVING: my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.

COMMENTS: Part of the The Great A-Z Multifandom Drabbling Meme. Unbetaed.

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

/***/

Aaron glanced down at the items that Spencer had set out on the counter: shaving mug, boar-hair brush with soap, straight-razor, mineral oil, alcohol and cotton swabs, styptic powder, astringent toner, skin cream, and four small white towels. He hadn't seen that elaborate of a setup since staying over at his grandfather's when he was a kid.

"You want to shave me," Aaron stated dubiously.

Spencer's smile was wide, confident. "Yes."

"You want to hold a straight-edge razor to my throat."

"_Shave_ you with it, Aaron," he corrected. Spencer then rolled his eyes and harrumphed a little. "It's not like I want to reenacting _Sweeney Todd_ here." He paused and tilted his head slightly. "Have you ever had a professional shave?"

"No."

"Then, please. Try it?"

"You're not a professional," was his immediate response. As soon as he said it, Aaron winced. Great. He _was_ trying to be a bit more adventurous, to let Spencer push his boundaries a little. But this? Aaron tried again, "What I mean is…"

"I've done this before," Spencer interrupted him smoothy, but there was no agitation or petulance in his voice. He actually sounded a bit amused.

Probably because he knew what Aaron's next statement would be, "You've done this…for others."

"Yes." His lover's grin turned smug. "Several."

"Several."

And right there, Aaron knew he was so totally screwed. His competitive side kicked in (which was what Spencer was more than likely counting on) and it was an outright challenge even if Spencer didn't phrase it as such.

Damn.

There were times when he wished his lover wasn't a skilled profiler.

Spencer then casually began packing up his kit. "Did you know that removal of hair on the scrotal sac heightens the sensations of fellatio?"

"You want to shave my _balls_?" The last work came out a full octave higher than his normal speaking voice, the first time in _decades_ that happened.

"No." Spencer shook his head as he continued to place items in the leather dop kit. "I was just stating a fact."

"But you're implying that you've taken a razor to another man's…" Aaron couldn't finish the sentence. True, he trusted Spencer with his life, not only physically but emotionally. But the whole 'take a razor to your junk' was just…no.

Spencer looked off to the side. He let out sort of a dreamy sigh. "It is even more intense when the perineum and area around the anus are shaved."

Aaron crossed his arms over his chest because he knew precisely what Spencer was doing. The "not only have I shaved another man's face, but I've shaved his privates so what the hell are you so worked up about?" strategy. He tried to look intimidating but Spencer, well, just didn't seem bothered by it all. Aaron watched as Spencer picked up the folded leather strop, smoothed his thumb along it, and then placed it gingerly in the bag.

Those hands…

On his face…

Smoothing lather on…

Scraping a blade against his skin oh so carefully…

Knowing Spencer wouldn't propose something unless he had full confidence in making it an enjoyable experience.

Christ.

Aaron let out an explosive sigh. "What chair do you want to use?"

/***/


	9. I is for Incremental

**Title:** I is for Incremental

**Prompt by** Anonymous

**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia

**Rating/Warnings:** PG. Blame the wine.

**Characters/Pairing:** Hotch/Reid, established relationship

ARCHIVING: my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.

COMMENTS: Part of the The Great A-Z Multifandom Drabbling Meme. Unbetaed.

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

/***/ /

"So…You're not offended?" Aaron asked, voice hushed.

Spencer looked down at the colorful, hand-drawn picture in his hands. It was hard to turn off the profiler in him, the one who immediately recognized the use of bright colors as a sign of contentment and happiness. It was hard just to focus on figures drawn in crayon, not the psychological meanings of the position of the stick hands and stick legs.

Spencer's mind flickered through the previous drawings that Jack had done and realized that Jack's acceptance of him had been incremental. He remembered how, at first, he had been deeply hurt that despite all the time that he had spent with Jack, Jack excluded him from drawings. Then slowly…oh so slowly…Spencer appeared. At first, across from the meadow. Then on the cusp of the hill. Then close to the fence. Then, on the side of the fence where Aaron and Jack were. Then, finally, next to Aaron.

Tonight's presentation, Jack was between Aaron and Spencer and they were all holding hands; a halo and winged Haley hovered above them.

It was the first time Aaron had ever asked his opinion on Jack's drawings. Odd. Weird. Maybe he was concerned that Jack had essentially outed them to the kindergarten at the Montessori school.

Spencer didn't care. His voice caught. "How can I be?"

And really, how could he?

It was the purest form of acceptance by a child.

/***/


	10. E is for Evaluation

**Title:** E is for Evaluation

**Prompt **by Anonymous

**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia

**Rating/Warnings:** R (profanity, sexual situations)

**Characters/Pairing:** Hotch/Reid

ARCHIVING: my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.

COMMENTS: Part of the The Great A-Z Multifandom Drabbling Meme. Unbetaed.

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

/***/

It wasn't the first time that Aaron set the dinner table with actual plates, cloth napkins and placemats; most of the time, it was Chinette in front of the television because they were just too tired to mess with 'proper' things.

It wasn't the first time Aaron poured the wine into an exquisite crystal decanter and served it in the matching goblets.

It wasn't the first time that Aaron made a full meal from scratch on a weeknight, even if the man's culinary skills weren't on the same level as his brother's.

It wasn't the first time that Aaron lit the taper candles and lowered the lights while they ate.

It wasn't the first time they had strawberries in bed.

It wasn't the first time they spent the evening making love—slow, sensual, generous…Aaron trying to last as long as he could—and then falling asleep tangled and sticky.

It was, however, the first time that Aaron did all of those things in one night.

Spencer also knew that breakfast was going to be an elaborate affair, judging by what was still in the fridge, even though they had to be in the office by eight in the morning.

It was only natural for Spencer to wonder what prompted Aaron to do all these things; after all, he made his living recognizing patterns and, well, this was a deviation from the normal routines. Spencer knew it wasn't an anniversary. It wasn't a prelude to asking Spencer to move in (he just couldn't and thankfully Aaron understood that), which also ruled out a marriage proposal (the FBI wasn't _that_ liberal and neither one of them wanted to leave the BAU).

He went through his mental checklist on what had prompted such an overture from Aaron.

No recent near-death experiences.

No recent doctor appointments.

No recent…

Spencer shifted, working himself out from the sleepy yet possessive hold of his lover. He knew it would wake Aaron—everything did and it was kind of unnerving—so he turned and planted a gentle kiss on his temple. "Gotta…you know…_go_."

That earned drowsy chuckle because it was a little joke between them, how everyone seemed to think Spencer was prudish and didn't use certain phrases. He knew them, he used them occasionally in private, but in public, he preferred to be a bit more formal.

He _was_ a federal agent, after all.

Aaron released him and was back to sleep almost immediately. Spencer got out of bed, pulling the covers up so that his side wouldn't grow too cold, and padded to the bathroom. Once he finished, he went out into the main area of Aaron's apartment and over to Aaron's desk. Aaron still kept a written appointment planner even though he was faithful about updating his Blackberry calendar.

If the planner was open to tomorrow's date, Spencer would look. If it wasn't, he wouldn't snoop. He might ask Aaron over breakfast. _Might_. Because there was the chance that last night was a random expression of love. Spencer sighed.

He looked down at the desk and then to the planner. Aaron's abbreviations were somewhat cryptic but to Spencer? It was one of the easier codes to break.

"ES-DsO-PE" was next to 9 AM

Spencer stared. _Erin Strauss, Director's Office, Performance Evaluation._

"Fuck," he whispered. He clenched his hands to his sides. He shook his head. "Oh, Aaron."

He knew exactly what his lover was thinking: _One last hurrah before the apocalypse._

The Team knew about them, of course. It wasn't so much because they _worked_ with world class profilers but practically _lived_ with them. Aaron and Spencer hadn't made an official announcement, but each member of the team tacitly acknowledged them in their own way. Spencer often wondered if the rest of the BAU knew, but Garcia reassured him as recently as three days ago that their relationship was still a secret.

That obviously didn't stop Aaron from worrying. Spencer knew if there was the slightest hint that Strauss knew, Aaron would call everything off. His lover had made that quite clear the first time they kissed.

What was Spencer supposed to say? _My unofficial NA sponsor is higher on the food chain than Strauss will ever be and knows the political games she plays. Hell, he went so far as to saying 'Crucifying Hotchner and Gideon did her more damage than good' and added, 'She won't get past Assistant Director of the unit. Trust me. If Hotchner wants to leapfrog her, all he has to do is give the signal.'_

Spencer let out a sigh and wandered back into the bedroom.

Well, if Aaron truly believed this was the 'last time', Spencer was going to make sure that it was a hell of a last time. He crawled back in bed.

/***/

F is for Frown


	11. F is for Frown

**Title:** F is for Frown

**Prompt by** westmoon

**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia

**Rating/Warnings:** NC-17 (sexual situations, profanity)

**Characters/Pairing:** Hotch/Reid, established relationship. Sequel to _**E is for Evaluation**_

ARCHIVING: my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.

COMMENTS: Part of the The Great A-Z Multifandom Drabbling Meme. Unbetaed.

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

/***/

Aaron planned to make a Sunday-style breakfast for the Thursday morning, but Spencer…well, Spencer woke him up with a blowjob, which turned into Spencer riding him to an exquisite (and really, there was no other word) orgasm. Aaron tried to reciprocate but Spencer held him down, whispered odes of love and sex, as he worked himself off. When he came on Aaron's belly and chest, Spencer delivered a searing kiss, one that left Aaron's lips a little bruised and tender.

It was an acknowledgment of Aaron's fears, touching and terrifying at the same time. He still wasn't used to a perceptive lover like Spencer, one who took in the details and then searched for the reasons behind the motivations. It was unfair to compare Spencer to Haley and Aaron tried his best not to do it, but occasions such as these made him wonder: would Haley have figured it out?

When Aaron got out of the shower and went to the stand where he had put the clothing he was going to wear out the night before, his trusty gray suit, white shirt and maroon tie had been replaced by the navy pinstripe suit, pale blue French cuff shirt, and dark Chanel tie. It was the suit he usually wore when testifying at difficult trials when he knew the defense was going to be especially tough. On top of the stand were the cufflinks Haley had given him when he had graduated law school and the tie bar he'd received from Rossi during his first year at the BAU. The American flag lapel pin was slightly larger than the one he traditionally wore, and he realized it was the one that Gideon had given him.

It stopped Aaron cold.

He bit his lips together and turned his head sharply to the side. As verbose as Spencer could be, it was these moments of tacit understanding that hit Aaron the hardest.

Aaron dressed quickly, hating the slight shake of his hands but knew he would have himself under control by the time he left the apartment. He went out to the kitchen and cursed when he saw the mug next to the coffeemaker. It was the stoneware one that Jack had given him last year for Christmas, the one with Jack's three year old handprint in paint on the side. Aaron was half-expecting the brewed coffee to be that savory Hawaiian roast that Spencer brought over a few months ago, but one taste confirmed it was Maxwell House.

When Spencer emerged from the bedroom fully dressed five minutes later, Aaron was already on his second cup of coffee and found himself nearly glaring at his lover. Spencer simply brushed past him, filled his travel mug with coffee and sugar, and turned off the coffeemaker.

"Spencer," Aaron started, hating that his voice sounded strained.

Spencer looked at him for a few seconds and then leaned forward, brushing his lips against Aaron's. He didn't have to say, _Whatever the outcome is, we'll deal with it._ Aaron responded with a desperate kiss of his own, sloppy and shaky, and Spencer clutched the lapels of Aaron's coat to keep his balance.

Aaron couldn't say the words, _I love you._

Spencer's shy smile and his thumb stroking gently over Aaron's still-wet lips translated as, _I love you, too._

/***/

Spencer buried himself with paperwork that morning. He knew as long as he kept busy, he wouldn't be tempted to check the clock and then the glass doors leading in to the BAU every thirty seconds. It wasn't until Morgan slapped his hand down on the dwindling pile of folders on his desk that Spencer looked up.

"Damn it, kid," Morgan said with exasperation, "could you slow it down a bit? You're making the rest of us look bad." Despite frustrated tone in the other agent's voice, his worry and concern were clear in his eyes.

Spencer glanced at clock on his computer monitor and knew he blanched. Eleven twenty-four. _Fuck._

"Let's get you a refill on that coffee," Morgan suggested, which was his uncharacteristically clumsy way of offering to listen.

Yet before he could retort that if Morgan wanted him to slow down, the additional caffeine wasn't the way to go, Hotch strode into the BAU office with a thick folder in his hand, called out "Team? Conference room", and went straight to Rossi's office.

As Morgan, Prentiss and Spencer got up, Garcia and JJ walked into the BAU main office and headed straight for the conference room. They were both loaded down with files, which translated as them having a new case.

Spencer relaxed just a bit; it was perfectly reasonable that Aaron had ended up in JJ's office right after the meeting with Strauss. Initial case briefings were sometimes as short as a minute or as long as a half-hour. Spencer sorely hoped it was the latter.

Once he walked into the conference room, he locked up his personal feelings as tightly as he could. When the briefing started—a child abduction in Schenectady—Spencer knew that there wouldn't be any time on the trip to New York to discuss personal things. It would have to wait.

So he focused on the case and ignored the constant frown on Aaron's face.

He had to.

He _had_ to.

/***/

Seventeen hours wasn't the record for solving a child-abduction case by any stretch of the imagination. The entire Team knew that each hour that passed substantially reduced the likelihood of finding the victim alive. Thankfully, luck was on their side.

The little girl was reunited with her aunt and uncle and the former step-father under arrest.

The post-case adrenaline hadn't worn off by the time the team reached the jet to go home; JJ and Prentiss challenged Spencer to a round of snack-food poker and Spencer's playful reply was, "Good, because I'm hungry."

As they pulled their luggage from the back of the SUVs, Aaron briefly grasped Spencer's elbow, the unspoken request for him to linger so they could talk privately. The rest of the team either didn't notice or pretended not to and they boarded the jet.

Once they were out of sight, Spencer's face transformed from flushed with success and eager to best his colleagues in poker to outright worry. Aaron forced a small smile as he pulled out three playing cards from his inner coat pocket. "I think you'll need these when you play."

They were the three, seven and ten of diamonds.

Spencer's brow furrowed.

Aaron said softly, "You told me once that each playing card had a specific meaning, and those meanings varied from culture to culture as well as over time. This combination," he tugged open Spencer's jacket and slid the card into his breast pocket, "is supposed to mean a secret wish come true."

Spencer stared.

Aaron's hand slid up to trace the line of Spencer's jaw. He couldn't kiss him, not here, no matter how badly he wanted to. However, he knew he would have plenty of opportunities that night when he told him, "It did."

/***/


	12. C is for Casual Friday

**Title:** C is for Casual Friday

**Prompt by **bc_girl

**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia

**Rating/Warnings:** PG-13 (profanity)

**Characters/Pairing:** Hotch/Reid, established relationship

ARCHIVING: my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.

COMMENTS: Part of the The Great A-Z Multifandom Drabbling Meme. Unbetaed.

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

/***/

It was a dubious plan, but when facing down two UnSubs holding an ER hostage and the clock was ticking, it really was the only plan they had. It wasn't as outrageous as, say, a magic trick to dupe a gun-wielding paranoid schizophrenic into thinking an implanted chip was being removed but…

Yeah.

Unorthodox.

What Hotch wasn't expecting was _him_ to get the rifle butt to the face. _Him_ to be the one sitting at Reid's feet. _Him_ to be the one being mocked by Reid. _Him_ with his hands ziptied while Reid had somehow talked his way out of being bound.

The UnSubs—Christ, Hotch couldn't even remember the guys' names except that they were cousins and their aunt had died here—waved their semi-automatic rifles around as they ranted. They were focused on Reid, almost pleading their case to him.

Even more in their favor? The UnSubs fully believing Reid was a physician because the man was dressed in scrubs and—thank God, thank God—the head ER nurse referred to him as 'doctor' instead of 'agent'.

Hotch remembered Reid assuring him, "It's gonna work" as he donned on the clothing. He remembered vaguely agreeing, but it was strained. There was a reason the Bureau didn't allow couples to work together on the same team, let alone the same unit. It was the same reason SWAT commander sometimes didn't tell the negotiator when they were going in, because the slightest change in tone or words could give the whole thing away.

_Focus,_ Hotch told himself because now his head was pounding and Reid's words were now fuzzy and distant, not crisp and enunciated. He shook his head, trying to clear the fogginess that was quickly taking over.

"You son of a bitch!"

"No!" Reid shouted.

Hotch snapped his head up in time to see the end of the rifle just inches from his left eye. What was holding it back? Reid. Hotch could clearly see the muscles of his subordinate's—_Lover's, _his mind whispered, _lover's_—forearm flexed and tense, his fingers wrapped firmly around the barrel of the gun.

He heard the words, "Concussion" and "Leverage" and "Chip".

Reid's words, but they were emotionless. Clinical. The same tone he used when talking about a cold case.

And really, that was the last thing that Hotch remembered.

/***/

Once Reid figured out that all the UnSubs—Chase and Kyle Bethay—wanted was someone to listen how the insurance company had turned down the claims because the hospital had used the wrong DRG codes, it had been relatively easy.

Except for Hotch passing out from the concussion.

_That_ had been frightening.

Because Hotch trying to clear his head came at the worst possible moment.

Reid managed to avert the first blow but not the second one after Hotch fell unconscious. Thankfully, Chase Bethay had hit Hotch's shoulder, not a more vulnerable spot. Still, it was the reason Reid was sitting in the private hospital room, still in his scrubs, and fidgeting because he really _really_ wanted to hold his lover's hand but couldn't.

Propriety was a bitch sometimes. Hotch would be livid if Reid did something to give their relationship away to a group of strangers. The team knew, which was why Rossi had publicly insisted that Reid stay behind until Hotch regained consciousness.

"Nrgh."

Reid bolted out his chair, rushing forward and checking the monitors as he did. Heart rate up. Blood pressure up. Oxygen level up. Good things.

He grabbed Hotch's hand because he had an excuse now. "Hotch? Hotch. It's Reid. You're safe. It's over."

"Spencer," Hotch slurred as he opened his eyes.

"Right here. I'm right here," Reid assured him, leaning over and squeezing his hand hard.

A slow grin spread across the man's face. Hotch's gaze met his and murmured, "Casual Friday."

Reid blinked a few times as he searched his memory for the reason for the reference. It took a few seconds and then he laughed. There was an ongoing bet in the BAU that Hotch and Reid would never be 'casually dressed' on the same day. "Casually", of course, meant something other than khakis (a staple of Reid's wardrobe) and a pullover (a staple of Hotch's).

Hotch was in a hospital gown; Reid in scrubs. Reid gave another squeeze to his lover's hands. "No photos, I promise."

"Good."

"But you'll have to stay awake now, okay?"

"Don't wanna."

"Don't care."

"You're not a real doctor."

"Three PhD's says I am."

"Christ. Always the PhD's."

Reid grinned. "_Always_ the PhD's."

/***/


	13. L is for Lipstick

**Title:** L is for Lipstick

**Prompt by** evil_killer_cat

**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia

**Rating/Warnings:** R (profanity)

**Characters/Pairing:** Hotch/Reid, established relationship

**Summary:** Austin isn't the first woman who sent lipstick-blessed cards to Spencer.

ARCHIVING: my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.

COMMENTS: Part of the The Great A-Z Multifandom Drabbling Meme. Unbetaed.

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

/***/

Aaron tries not to "go there". He really does, but there's always that nagging voice of insecurity leftover from his adolescent days when he was told "no one would want something as worthless as you" on a regular basis. It's that little voice that _counts_ the number of business cards Spencer has tucked away in his desk drawer in his apartment.

Business cards with lipstick imprints on the backs of them.

Twenty-seven in all. No two cards are from the same business or city, only three from the same state. Even more alarming (_intriguing_) is the fact that all had different shades lipstick yet the same imprint.

All stored in a single, plain white envelope with no names, addresses, postmarks or dates.

_Don't panic_.

_There has to be a story behind them. Maybe a bet with Morgan on who could collect the most?_ But Morgan isn't that shallow, no matter what image the guy tries to play off.

_And the lipstick marks were all made by the same person._

Upon further inspection, Aaron realizes that all the businesses are restaurants. Four are Thai, seven are Italian, two are wine bars, one is Ethiopian, one Lebanese, two are Indian, four are Continental French, one is Pan-Asian, one is new American, one is fusion, one is Soul Food, and two are 'retro' diners.

One name jumps out at Aaron—Melba's Little Kitchen in Memphis—and he immediately recalls a case a year ago there…Day Two of the investigation and _Spencer_ suggesting the restaurant. He remembers it because Spencer rarely recommends any place to eat; Rossi and Prentiss usually duke it out over cuisine because they are more selective.

Melba's Little Kitchen was obviously recommended by Miss Lipstick.

Aaron flips through the cards again, pausing on the cities that they have had cases in recent months. The restaurant names are unique enough that he starts _remembering_ that yes, in fact, the Team has dined at several of them.

Spencer clearly values Miss Lipstick's opinion enough to risk the culinary snobbery of two picky eaters who insist they are not "picky eaters".

The ruby anger that surges through Aaron is colored with emerald jealousy. It's old and it's familiar and it's _comfortable_ even if the jagged edges rip open scars that have never faded. It's raw and it's warm and it's vibrant and it's _delicious_ although it has no right to be. He shouldn't savor this.

He knows better.

Yet Aaron Hotchner has never been really good at believing that he deserves something he works so far for. When he gets what he wants, he digs in and holds on, always waiting for it to be taken from him.

He's been down this road before. His father cheated profusely on his mother. And then with Haley…

"Did you find the box of envelopes?"

Aaron whirls around, cards still in hand, and faces his…he faces _Reid_. Reid meets his gaze and then glances down to what Aaron is holding. Aaron sets his shoulders. He fixes the man with a penetrating stare, the one that gets weak, pathetic men to blubber out a confession from the sheer force of his look.

But jealousy and rage make Aaron forget that the man standing before him, who had sent him to the desk to look for envelopes in the first place, is anything but weak or pathetic.

There's no defiance in the man's posture. He doesn't lift his chin or settle his hands on his hips or tap his foot. He doesn't point accusingly. His voice is calm, strong and sure. "When Lila Archer goes on promotional tours for her show, she sends me the cards of the restaurants that she likes in that city."

Lila Archer. The case in Los Angeles six years ago. Young, blonde. Stalking victim. Smooth tanned skin, perky little breasts, taut ass. An actress, although the most the girl did was bounce around on a fake beach set in a tiny, glittery bikini. Young. Nubile. Unscarred.

The girl who pulled _his_ Spencer into a swimming pool. The girl who kissed _his_ Spencer in said swimming pool. The girl who caused _his_ Spencer to be on the front page of a tabloid.

The girl who obviously still contacts—covets—_she_ _covets_ _his_ _Spencer_.

Spencer's eyebrow hitches slightly and then he takes a step closer. Aaron waits, because in his experience, adulterers always stammer out explanations that include denials that they're doing anything wrong. Then, Aaron is blamed for their affairs. Yet before Aaron can snarl out an accusation, Spencer closes the distance between them.

He takes the cards from Aaron's hand and sets them on the desk. Spencer then fishes through the drawer and pulls out the box of envelopes. He places that in Aaron's hands, turns and walks back to the kitchen.

It's not supposed to happen this way. It's not supposed to _not_ end in a fight.

It's supposed to end with Aaron being at fault for everything.

Not like this. Definitely not like this.

He stands there for the longest time, lost in the swirl of confused thoughts and feelings. The burn of rage flees from Aaron's bones replaced by glacial cold. All of this happens to the symphony of dishes and glasses clinking from the kitchen.

Something breaks. He's not sure what is and the crash isn't that loud. Neither is the muttered swearing.

He stumbles towards the kitchen, the box falling to the floor. He finds Spencer standing at the sink with a broken drinking glass in one hand, crimson coating his knuckles. Spencer sets the glass on the counter, his hand resting on the pale Formica. Blood pools around his pinkie.

"In the top left drawer, there are letters from Nathan Harris. He writes me once a week. Next to those letters are ones from Austin and Jordan Norris. There are a few postcards from Ethan." Spencer looks over his shoulder. "I have more. You're more than welcome to read them." He sighs. "People write to me, Aaron, just like the write to you. Yes, Lila's method of communication is…" he shrugs but there is no apology in his tone, "unorthodox but it's only because I mentioned Austin sent me my business card with a lipstick mark on the back. Lila thought it would be funny if she did it, too." He pauses. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

Aaron stares, not at Spencer's face, but at the blood on the man's hands and the counter. He's lightheaded. Dizzy. Spencer's tone is not confessional but matter-of-fact. Blunt. Unashamed. Aaron's belly tightens and aches. He blurts, "You're bleeding," which is quite obvious and he's sure that Spencer knows it, but those are the only words that his brain is allowing him to say.

"I realize that, Aaron, but you didn't answer my question." Spencer releases his grip on the glass, grabs a wad of paper towels with his uninjured hand, presses the towels to his wound, and turns. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

Questions swirl in his mind as his tongue presses against his teeth. He wants to know. He wants to interrogate. It's instinct. It's habit. He's done this before. He's had this confrontation more than once.

But this is different. Spencer _tells_ him about the other letters. _Tells_ him about potential rivals.

Aaron doesn't understand.

It's why he can't talk.

"I understand why you jumped to the conclusion you did." Spencer's voice is soft. "I'm not going to argue with you about this. Lila and I are friends and, yes, six years ago, I did have a crush on her. But that was six years ago, before you and I became involved. I love you, Aaron. You need to believe that." He holds up the blood streaked towel. "I need to get a bandage."

For whatever reason, Spencer's last statement jolts Aaron into action. He yanks open the drawer beside him and rummages around until he finds the antibiotic ointment and the bandages. He reaches for Spencer's injured hand and tugs it forward; it takes Spencer a few seconds to relax and then tilt his hand so that Aaron can see the wound better. It has stopped bleeding and the gash is about an inch long.

He dresses the cut in silence, careful and gentle as he applies the bandages. Aaron doesn't release Spencer's hand when he's done. Instead, he holds it lightly between his own and whispers, "I'm sorry."

He's rewarded with a soft kiss to his temple. "There's nothing to forgive."

/***/


	14. U is for Unwavering

**Title: **U is for Unwavering

**Prompt by **Anonymous

**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia

**Rating/Warnings:** R (profanity, drug use, discussion of cremation, adult content), set in the early Season 3, prior to the arrival of Rossi

**Characters/Pairing:** Hotch/Reid

**Summary:** "I'm serious this time, Hotch," Reid rasps into the phone. "Please. Please? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please. Understand."

**ARCHIVING:** my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.

**COMMENTS:** Part of the The Great A-Z Multifandom Drabbling Meme. Unbetaed.

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. David Bowie and EMI own "Ashes to Ashes". Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

/***/

Hotch is angry. He's upset. He's frustrated.

Not with Reid.

Really, he can't be pissed off at Reid because the man is _trying_ for fuck's sake. Trying and failing, yes. But still trying.

_"I'm serious this time, Hotch," Reid rasps into the phone. "Please. Please? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please. Understand."_

It's the reason why Hotch has torn apart Reid's apartment. The kitchen is the worst, because there are clever places to hide drugs and Reid is brilliant, experienced profiler. The pills are not in the canisters of flour or sugar like some common addict. No. They're tucked away in the baking powder in the cabinet, the box of cornstarch in the pantry, and cylinder of baking soda kept in the fridge to keep the smell down. They're not in the bag of rice but the tin of orzo.

All this goes on while Reid locks himself in the miniscule hall closet because it's the only 'safe place'.

It takes two hours and a lot of toilet flushing, but Hotch is satisfied that Round One is a success. Round Two involves him unlocking the closet, pulling Reid to his feet, and sitting him on the couch. Round Two has Hotch listing in precise detail where he's looked, what he's found, and what he's destroyed.

Round Two includes Hotch grabbing Reid by the chin, forcing the younger man to look him in the eyes, and demanding, "Where the hell is the rest of it?" because Hotch knows that hiding places which are clever for a successful addict are positively pedestrian for Reid.

Because—Jumping Jesus on a Pogo Stick!—Hotch found a vial of Dilaudid in the sixteen-ounce container of Lawry's Season Salt.

The really twisted part of Hotch thinks: _Damn, the man should teach a course at the Academy on this._

When Reid doesn't answer immediately, Hotch gives him a hard shake. He slams his fist down on the end table. He uses his harshest, most vicious tone as he demands, _"Where else?"_

Reid doesn't flinch or cower. He just looks at Hotch with those impossibly large, sad eyes. He stutters out four more locations and the contents: the smuggler's hatch of the large Millennium Falcon model, the stuffed rabbit tucked inside a satin top hat, the bottle of liquid laundry detergent, and the urn containing his cremated maternal grandmother.

Hotch can't help but blurt, "Good God, Reid!" as he picks up the decorative piece and stares at it. He's done a lot of things in his time, but shifting through the ashes of a deceased person to find drugs isn't one of them. He supposes it could be worse.

Regardless, he'll need gloves and a gallon ziplock bag. Then, he'll need a very large glass of bourbon, because Jesus Fucking Christ…

A harsh laugh draws his attention back to Reid, who is now shaking his head. "You should see the look on your face!" Reid pauses. "Those are not the remains of my maternal grandmother. She's interred at Bunkers Cemetery in Vegas next to my maternal grandfather. Garcia can verify that for you." Reid leans back, eyes glittering with tears and dark humor. "I'm fucked up, Hotch, but not _that_ fucked up. They're ashes from my hibachi grill. Even the most hardened LEOs think twice about disturbing what they believe to be the remains of a loved one." Reid holds out his hand, the tremors more pronounced than they were two hours ago. Clearly, this time the withdrawal was truly going to be a bitch. "If it makes you squeamish..."

Hotch waves him off and goes to the kitchen. Reid keeps Nitrile gloves under the sink, thank God, and it only takes a few minutes to separate the drugs from the soot. It truly is the largest stash he's come across this evening.

Suddenly, Reid starts singing. Okay, warbling off-key more like it.

_"Ashes to ashes, funk to funky  
We know Agent Reid's a junkie  
Strung out in Quantico  
Hitting an all-time low  
Time and again I tell myself  
I'll stay clean tonight  
But the black SUVs are following me  
Oh no, not again  
I'm here with a valuable friend…  
One flash of light but no smoking pistol…"*_

Hotch's head snaps up to find Reid sprawling on the couch, arms in the air as if he's conducting. He knows he'll never be able to hear that David Bowie song and not think of Reid's version.

It takes another five minutes to get rid of the latest round of drugs. Hotch is tired, he's still upset, and he's still furious with himself for allowing it to get this far.

_Jason was supposed to talk to him. Jason said he did talk to him. Why the hell did I trust Jason with something like this?_

Hotch knows that this will go on all night, that Reid probably has several if not hundreds more places to hide his drugs.

He marches up to Reid, who is now huddled under a thick blanket and shivering. "Are you serious about this?"

Reid looks up, eyes still wet but there's a grim set to his jaw. "I called you."

"That's a statement of fact, not an answer."

"I can't check into Snowden or any of the other places," Reid continues, as if he didn't hear him. "If those show up on my personnel file, it's a death sentence to my career. HIPPA doesn't mean jackshit when it comes to federal agents."

Hotch hauls Reid to his feet, grabs his chin again, and stares at him hard. He bites off his words. "I asked if you were serious about this. You need to say the words, Reid."

Reid blinks. He briefly looks away. A tear spills from his eye. His entire body is shaking. "I _am_ saying the words, Hotch," he whispers. "I'm saying that I thought about the consequences, weighed the possibilities. I _never_ used while we were actively in the field. I was tempted. Believe me I was tempted, but I didn't.

"But I also know it's only a matter of time when I have to because the cravings are so intense that my bones itch." Reid's gaze is now unwavering. "Of all the people I have turned to, you're the only one to do this—" he gestures towards the kitchen "—the only one that hasn't treated me with pity or told me a story about knowing when to walk away. You're the only one who…" Reid's voice breaks as he confesses, "I meant what I said in Georgia. Please. Help me."

Hotch pulls him close, wrapping his arms around too-thin shoulders. His lips are against Reid's ear. "You need to do this for yourself, Spencer. Not for anyone else."

"I know that."

"I'm here for you." He pulls back just enough to meet Reid's gaze again. "I can't control what happens in the field—none of us can—but I'm here for you." He brushes the lone tear from Reid's cheek. "You're going to sit here while I go pack clothing for you. We're on stand down for the next five days. You'll stay with me because that's an environment that I can control for those next five days. That should get you through the worst of it."

Reid stares at him before his mouth flaps a few times. Finally, "You can't have an addict going through withdrawal in the same house as your wife and infant son!"

Hotch swallows hard and it's his turn to stare Reid straight in the eyes. "Haley…Haley left me, Spencer." It's the first time he's said those words aloud. "When I turned down the White Collar crime transfer and returned to the BAU? She packed her and Jack's belongings, moved in with her sister, and retained a lawyer. It's only a matter of time before the divorce proceedings start."

"Hotch…"

He releases Reid and takes a step back. He wants to say something like, _I'll keep you from shooting up or popping pills or whatever you do if you promise to keep me from drinking._ Because his liquor cabinet has been taking quite a hit ever since he got back from Milwaukee and _knew_ that his marriage is truly over.

The mysterious phone calls turned out to be from her lawyer. Hotch knows the attorney from a case three years ago and is familiar with the man's tendency to take his clients to bed.

Instead, Hotch says, "You wanted my help. This is what we're going to do."

Reid's eyes narrow for a second, a sharpness and realization dawning in his eyes. He shakily nods and sits back on the couch. "Five days," he murmurs."

"Five days," Hotch echoes.

He's not going to fail this time.

/***/


	15. P is for Pie

**Title:** P is for Pie

**Prompt by** mrs_nott

**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia

**Rating/Warnings:** R (profanity, adult content)

**Characters/Pairing:** Hotch/Reid

**Summary:** They're in a café that has as many drinkers as diners. It's not an appropriate place to have a conversation like this. It really isn't.

**ARCHIVING:** my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.

COMMENTS: Part of the The Great A-Z Multifandom Drabbling Meme. Unbetaed.

There's a reference to the "X is for Xylophone" story posted earlier, but you don't need to read that in order to enjoy this.

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

/***/

It takes two years, six months and twenty-three days for Aaron to finally explain why he owned a marching band xylophone. It's not a pleasant story, but it's one that Spencer can relate to. Aaron played the percussion instrument to defy his father. Young Aaron Hotchner used the money he earned over the summer mowing lawns to pay for lessons and pawned a rare coin so he could buy the instrument. He did it all in secret.

Aaron ends the story oh-so-casually with, "Those mallets hurt more than you'd think."

Spencer knows what Aaron is doing: offering up a piece of himself—a very _private_ piece of his childhood that never talks about—so that Spencer has the opportunity to reciprocate.

It's not expected. It never is.

Spencer knows this and, really, he does try so hard to share himself. It's usually him offering up a bad memory for Aaron, not vice versa. They never have to preface their stories with, "If I tell you, will you promise not to laugh?" because they never chortle or giggle or make light of the experiences. They listen to each other, weigh their responses, and then tread carefully until they feel comfortable with the issue.

It's hard to explain what set Spencer off today, even if Aaron knows that he avoids certain brands of food. It falls in the same category as Aaron preferring not to drive Lincolns unless he has to. It's that trigger, that memory that is almost paralyzing.

Spencer presses his palms flat on the red and white checkered tablecloth. They're in a café that has as many drinkers as diners. It's not an appropriate place to have a conversation like this. It really isn't.

Still.

Spencer licks his lips. He stares at the fried oyster on his plate and wonders why the hell he even ordered the damn thing. Instead, Spencer picks up his paper napkin and does a simple sleight of hand trick. Aaron watches intently, as always.

"Fruit Pie, the Magician," Spencer finally says. To anyone else, his voice sounds calm, almost whimsical. He knows what he sounds like to Aaron. "I was eight. Didn't quite get the 'fruit' connotation until much, much later."

Aaron's brow creases and his left eye twitches. The young boy in Spencer who endured swirlies and being stuffed in a locker and taped to a goalpost still wants to hand over a list of his tormentors to Aaron just to see what will happen, to watch how badly Aaron will fuck them up. The adult in Spencer shakes that notion off.

Those people? Just aren't worth it.

Spencer sets the napkin down and leans back in the booth. He doesn't elaborate. He really doesn't want to, and knows he really doesn't have to. Aaron can pretty much imagine just what happened. Maybe in two years, six months and twenty-three days, Spencer will tell him the details.

Maybe.

Aaron reaches across the table and grasps his hand briefly, thumb caressing his knuckles before folding his hands in front of him.

"Hostess phased out using the mascot on their pies in 2006," Spencer states as he pushes his plate away. There's no way in hell he's going to eat that oyster. No way.

"The profile indicates that our UnSub is a collector," Aaron comments as he slides his own plate to the side.

The silence hangs between them, but it's not uncomfortable. It's just them.

A moment.

A pause.

_Them._

"It won't affect me," Spencer tells him. It's a needless statement, but one that he still has to say.

"I know," Aaron replies softly. Again, it's unnecessary, but it's welcomed all the same. It's one of the things that Spencer loves about Aaron the most.

He forces a little smile. "Then, let's go."

***/***


	16. R is for Rage

**Title:** R is for Rage

**Prompt by** lj user=mrs_nott

**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia

**Rating/Warnings:** R (adult content, profanity)

**Characters/Pairing:** Hotch/Reid

**Summary:** When a fist slammed in to the drywall of the partially-finished home, the only reason people gasped and stared was because it was _Spencer Reid_ who punched the wall.

ARCHIVING: my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.

COMMENTS: Part of the "The Great A-Z Multifandom Drabbling Meme. Unbetaed.

Um. Yeah. Stlil probably not what _**mrs_nott**_ was expecting but…Still on painkillers when I wrote this one. Yeah. Sorry.

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

/***/

It was an unspoken rule that they did not take out their anger, their frustration…their rage…on each other. Physically. Verbally. Psychologically. It was a good rule. A sensible rule. One that they needed to have not just because Aaron Hotchner's temper could be brutal and vicious but also because Spencer Reid could be just as a harsh, just as damaging.

However, there was no rule for furniture or for walls.

There couldn't be, really.

So when a fist slammed in to the drywall of the partially-finished home, the only reason people gasped and stared was because it was _Spencer Reid_ who punched the wall.

And he left quite a sizeable hole.

Five little boys, all six years old.

And what the UnSub had done to the bodies…

Two LEOs were still puking in the bushes outside.

"Walk it off," Hotch ordered, sharp and crisp, because there was another unspoken rule in the BAU: _never let the locals see you flinch_.

Reid's eyes glittered dangerously. He rocked back on his heels, as if readying for another swing. He then spun around and stormed out of the house.

Of course he was angry. Furious. Who wouldn't be?

They were too late.

Too late.

Hotch couldn't help but stare at the empty space Reid's fist had left. He wanted to reach forward and run his fingers along the jagged edges of the hole. He wanted to break off a piece of the broken wall and tuck it in his pocket, a souvenir of Reid's uncharacteristic _physical_ outburst.

He wanted to.

But he didn't.

Instead, Hotch issued orders to Morgan, called Rossi with the update, and consulted with the lead detective on their next steps. He didn't want to be there when the coroner arrived to deal with the bodies. He knew his limits. He thought he knew Reid's. Today's outburst was a new wrinkle, and even if it broke an unspoken rule, it was a good thing because it meant that they still _felt_.

When Hotch exited the residence, he found Reid standing by the SUV and surrounded by the four local cops who hadn't lost their lunches. It was an odd sight; officers always gravitated toward Rossi or Morgan in situations like this. Not the skinny white guy who holstered his gun like an amateur, dressed like a poor university professor, and drank coffee-flavored sugar.

The four locals were nodding, obviously in response to something Reid had said. One of them clasped Reid on the shoulder as they disbursed, yet another unusual gesture. It was perhaps a cruel thing to admit, but it was true: Reid usually didn't inspire camaraderie like that. Hotch couldn't think of a single time that he'd ever seen something like that.

It wasn't until Hotch closed the distance between them that Reid glanced at him. The younger man's fury was unmistakable.

Hotch hated having to say, "I need your head in the game," but it was needed. It was expected. It was the Job.

Reid drummed his fingers on his bicep for a few seconds before saying, "The UnSub isn't skilled construction labor. The way the bodies were dismembered? It was sloppy." Reid looked away. "The boys also weren't all killed at once. The UnSub's kept the bodies with him until now but something caused him to panic and…" He scowled and swallowed hard. "Caused him to panic and dump them. He wasn't interviewed during the last canvas but we must have gotten close. I think he works second shift."

The theory made sense, so Hotch made another call to Rossi and relayed the information. After he hung up, silence settled between them.

"I'm not apologizing."

Hotch let out a sigh. "I wasn't asking you to."

"Good." The sharpness was unusual.

He allowed a few moments to pass, watching as the coroner's van pulled up. He had another question he wanted to ask, but it was a delicate one more out of sheer curiosity than a need to really know. Hotch knew that he'd find out later, probably laying in bed with his lover and decompressing at the end of the day. However, the outburst was unsettling.

It wasn't _Reid._

Quietly, Hotch asked, "What set you off?"

Reid's eye twitched and his arms tightened across his torso, yet the rest of his body was still. There was none of his usual nervousness or fidgeting.

"Reid?" he insisted.

The younger man's jaw worked for a few seconds but he refused to look at Hotch. "I didn't see the bodies of Jacob Derson, Gavin Korschek, Aiden Casten, Brady Ranier or Landon Church." He lifted his chin a little. He swallowed hard. He grimaced as he hugged himself a bit more. "I saw Jack." His voice broke, "I saw _our_ son."

It was like a punch to the gut. Aaron sucked in breath. He swayed a little himself. In the three years they were together, Spencer never referred to Jack as theirs, always 'your son'. Never 'our'. Aaron pitched his voice low, knowing they couldn't discuss it here but _God_ he wanted to. "Spence…"

"It's not something I can just _walk off_, Aaron," he added bitterly.

"I know," because Aaron remembers the first case when his mind identified the victims with Jack.

"But I am going to find this bastard."

"We," Aaron correctly softly. "_We_ will find the bastard."

Spencer lifted his gaze over to Aaron's. Slowly, he dropped his arms to his sides, one hand resting on the butt of his gun. "We will."

/***/


End file.
